


Not That Kind of Fairytale

by thingsishouldntbedoing



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, CinderEggsy, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:50:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3571988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsishouldntbedoing/pseuds/thingsishouldntbedoing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was swallowed up by this world for the brief moment he was allowed within it. Bright lights and glinting marble and women in beautiful gowns that glittered like a thousand butterflies as they swayed, churned and blurred together until he was starstruck and breathless.</p><p>Eggsy Unwin was not the main character of a fairytale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not That Kind of Fairytale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaciart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaciart/gifts).



> So this idea was inspired by the art below that belongs to [Julie](http://kaciart.tumblr.com). She told me the idea that she had and I kind of ran with it. 
> 
> Expect lots of fairytale homages and schmoopy cuteness. If you're so inclined to do so you can find me on [tumblr](http://jocunditea.co.vu).

 

 

 

[ ](http://kaciart.tumblr.com)

 

If fairytales were real this would have been one:

Women in beautiful gowns that glittered like a thousand butterflies, men in gem colored suits with golden sashes and velvet cloaks, butlers and maids bustling around the edges of the dance floor with carefully balanced flutes of champagne - things that he’d only heard about. 

The orchestra swelled with music every few minutes, waltzes and promenades swaying and shifting the bodies below him like blooms in the breeze, and he, shaking with nervous energy, watched from the balcony.

However Eggsy Unwin wasn't the main character of a fairytale. He was the firstborn son of a career sailor whose step-father thought himself nobility. The only people who lived fairytales were princesses and the nobles born into luxury. Not a sailor’s son with no title to speak of.

He pulled at the collar of his jacket, smiling at the people who passed, and jumping at the chance to slip a glass of champagne off a tray. Alcohol could soothe his nerves, push down the writhing feeling in his stomach.

“There’s the king.” He looked over, interest waxing with the whispers coming from the women around him.  
  
"They’re all so enchanted,” a mocking voice said from his elbow.  
  
“Huh? Oh yeah well…” His eyes fell on a young woman with brown hair and soft brown eyes that looked him over with interest. From her, unlike the others he had run into, he felt only curiosity and not the usual wistful lust of a lonely woman. “He’s the bloody king.”

“He is that indeed,” she laughed. “I am Lady Roxanne Morton, the King’s ward.”  
  
“Oh I… nice to meet you.” A flush heated his cheeks and he nearly stumbled over himself to bow to her. “I… think that’s how it goes right?”  
  
“Well you were very close." She hid a smile behind her hand. "Why don't you go down there and dance?"

"Me! I can't fu-dance." He checked himself, looking over her shoulder pensively.

"Something wrong?" She glanced behind her, brows knitted. 

He shifted his weight to hide his face just slightly, tossing back the last of his champagne. His step-brothers, two hideous things that Eggsy preferred to call "Poodle" and "Bulldog", brushed by without incident - obviously they didn't recognize him in decent clothes.

"Nuffin'," he said peevishly. "D'ya wanna dance, Roxanne?" 

She lifted her brows at his sudden change of heart but offered her hand regardless.  

"Maybe I'll introduce you to my Uncle, yes?" She offered. “Oh,” her look turned sly, “you may call me Roxy.”

"Oh… Roxy, then." He swallowed down the bile that edged into his throat. If he was caught by the _King_ sneaking into his gala there wasn't much someone like Eggsy Unwin could do. His step-father would beat him to a pulp if he found out.

"Come on, then," she said on a laugh and pulled him down the stairs.

Roxy smelled like fine powders and crushed roses and she laughed pleasantly when he made a mistake, gently guiding him through the steps to the dances. She seemed to have no problem pulling him close or pushing him away depending on the music, happy to let him elbow away any other dancers they encountered. With Roxy's playful lessons he could straighten up and relax his shoulders, less paranoid of the people around him. He was a face in the crowd dancing with a beautiful girl, not Eggsy the soldier's son.

"Oh here's where we change partners," she murmured partway through a song.

"Change partners? You can't be serious!" What little confidence he had gained left him.

"May I have this dance?" A lord, or perhaps some lord's son, jimmied himself between them and Roxy gave him an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry! I'll be back!" With that she was gone and he was back to feeling self conscious, scuttling to the edges of the dance floor.

"Good evening." A fine voice, cultured and polished, spoke from somewhere near his ear and sent a shiver up his spine. 

"I'm sorry mate I just got done," he said, taking a sip of champagne as he turned to look at- "oh fuck."

The king's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline and Eggsy nearly spit his champagne out, barely clapping a gloved hand over his mouth to stop it.

"Are you quite alright?" The King of _sodding_ England was asking him if he was alright.

"Yeah mate I'm fine," he said as inelegantly as he could manage.

Impossibly the King huffed a laugh out his nose and a smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. He didn't seem the type to laugh, not really laugh, but then not many snobs did.

"Uh... Sorry if I..."

"You aren't used to this sort of company, are you?" He asked in the same butterscotch voice, sweet and melodious and deep, that made Eggsy's skin burn.

"That easy?" He slumped slightly. "You gonna throw me out? Have me beheaded or summat?"

"You're charming," he said instead. Had his tone been different Eggsy might have thought him joking, but the edge to the king's voice was gentle. "Would you care to dance? I'm finding myself short on partners this evening." 

"That's a surprise considering-" Eggsy cut himself short. "Well I mean you're the King an' all yeah?"

"I am indeed the king." He gave a slow nod of his head. 

"You don't need no crown to know that," Eggsy breathed. There was something inherently regal about him, something in the line of his shoulders and the angles of his jaw.

"Would you like to dance?" He asked again and folded one arm behind his back, offering his palm as he would to a woman.

"Ain't that a bit queer?" Eggsy reached out and took his hand regardless.

"Nonsense. Many a negotiation has been made between men on the dance floor." The twinkle in his eye filled Eggsy's cheeks with heat. "As long as we are dancing you may call me Harry."

"Harry," Eggsy echoed and dropped his gaze to their polished boots. 

"Keep your eyes on me," he said with kindness on his voice.

As if he could have taken his eyes off, turning in slow circles with their palms together. The King was beautiful, breathtaking in his regality, with the subtlest touch of silver at his temples and the curve of smile lines around his lips that lifted when he smirked. He was perfect. Straight shouldered and well muscled with warm brown eyes that glinted like lager in a fading torchlight. A shift in the music and they switched palms, turning a new direction before Harry caught his hand and pulled him in.  
  
“Bit close, mate.” Eggsy sucked in air.  
  
“I do apologize.” The King certainly didn’t _sound_ sorry. “I can let you go if you’d like.”  
  
Intoxicated by the spice and liquor scent of Harry’s collar he could hardly think about much beyond that, that and the lingering thought of just what the king looked like under all his regalia. 

“Don’t let go,” he found himself saying.  
  
Harry’s brows lifted again in that slightly ridiculing, slightly amused way that made Eggsy’s skin itch. It was infuriating and adorable all at once and rather than making him feel like an uneducated idiot it made him feel… warm… welcome.  
  
“You’re a good king,” Eggsy told him frankly, earning another quirk of a smile.  
  
“Why thank you. You’re a good dance partner.” He barely dared to breathe under the king’s gaze, feeling like a parcel about to be unwrapped in the best of ways. 

He lost track of what song was playing the background, swept up in the quick steps of the king’s dance, focused only on the handsome lines of the face before him and the burning just beneath his sternum. He wasn’t sure how long they danced, or when Harry’s hand had crept to the small of his back, but he would have given his left testicle to never stop.  
  
Eggsy was swallowed up by this world for the brief moment he was allowed within it. Bright lights and glinting marble and the frustrating thickness of fabric that clung to the lines of his king’s body and made his mouth water. It didn’t seem to matter that they were both men, his King looked at him as though he might devour him, and he wasn’t certain they weren’t thinking the same thing.

"You are very beautiful but I'm afraid I don't know your name," Harry murmured against his temple. Eggsy stiffened, nearly missing a step.

"Maybe you have no need to know my name?" He replied in turn.

"Perhaps I do not. But I would like to." 

"You asking cause you're the king or cause you like me?" Eggsy asked. Oh _god_ why was he being honest? He supposed at least if he was beheaded for being cheeky he'd be away before midnight.

 _That's a terrible thought, Eggsy._ He chided himself mentally. _If you die how could anything get better?_

Better was having Harry's liquor eyes on him, intoxicating him more deeply than the absinthe his friend had stolen from a French painter. Better was dancing in choreographed circles with the taste of champagne on his lips. Better was knowing he was desirable.

"Which do you want the answer to be?"

He had heard of this before. Royal consorts. Ordained prostitutes that hung in the corners. They entertained the nobility, pleased them with their bodies, and earned rewards. No one outwardly spoke of them, but he knew they were there.

"I'd hoped you was interested," Eggsy answered softly. His gut burned at the spark that shone bright in the depths of the king's eyes, at the subtle curve of his lips that made Eggsy feel dangerous in the best of ways. He had danced on the edge of a blade and escaped unscathed.  
  
“Come with me,” Harry said and slowed their dance.  
  
Eggsy blinked at him for a moment, dumbfounded, then obediently followed him out through what had once appeared to be windows.  
  
The gardens below them, waning in the muted moonlight, made him wish for more - something he had never allowed himself before. He took in a deep breath of cool air and leaned over the balustrade, laughing brightly.  
  
“Fuck! This is disgusting!” He looked over to find that Harry had obtained two champagne glasses and was offering him one with that same twinkle of bemusement in his eyes. “I mean… it’s really gorgeous, you know? Nothing like this where I’m from.”  
  
He felt as though he should keep speaking, as though if he stopped the moment might slip away between his fingers like fine silk, even though his words faltered on his tongue under Harry’s gaze.  
  
“You never did tell me your name,” Harry said finally.  
  
“Oh!” He opened his mouth to introduce himself, to keep him there for just another moment, grasping for the threads of dream that threatened to fray and break - he wanted it to last.

It didn’t.

"Your Majesty," a servant said. "The Duke of Cambridge would speak with you."

"Would he? Well I'm afraid that can't wait." Harry looked to Eggsy with an apology in his eyes. "I hate to ask but… Will you?"

"Yeah! I-I mean yes, of course. I'll stay right here, Har-Your Majesty." He swallowed hard at the wrinkle of a smirk on the royal's handsome face. 

"Then I will return. Chester please see that our guest is well attended to," he said as he straightened the collar of his butler's jacket.

"Of course, sir." The butler replied briskly. "May I bring you anything?"

"Whisky, yeah mate?" Eggsy leaned against the balcony railing and looked out over the gardens. He had just spent the evening dancing with the King of England! He wanted to whoop and howl to the skies. He would have to find Merlin and thank him. Merlin. Where ever would he find him again? He had just shown up out of the blue and offered him a fancy suit and a ticket to the ball. Where had he come from? 

"Oi!" A rough hand caught the back of his neck and jerked him to standing. "What the hell do you think you're doing here, eh?"

Eggsy's face burned with shame and fear as he spluttered out excuses. The one person he had desperately attempted to avoid. His step-father. Mean spirited and violent, not to mention as dumb as a rock and strong as an ox, Dean was nothing more than a low class thug.

If he was being honest Eggsy wasn't much better.

"It's my right, mate!" Eggsy managed as his step-father dragged him towards the doors. "Ow! What the hell?"

"You have no right. Get in there!" His step-father shoved him face first into the carriage door, upsetting the horses.

Eggsy knew what was coming. He should have seen it from a mile away. He should have known. Sitting in the carriage, pressing shaking fingers to the blood dripping from his nose, his dance with the King seemed a world and a half from him now.  

Too bad really... He was a good dancer. Eggsy squinted out the window, shocked by the crack of a hand against his cheek.

"Don't look out that window boy."

"Yessir," Eggsy murmured.

It had been nice while it lasted.

 

* * *

 

"Chester." His disappointment billowed into his chest, dampening what little spirit he'd clung to for this maddeningly boring party. He enjoyed soirées, enjoyed having people about him, but all the interesting ones had retreated to their townhouses in the country.

"I'm sorry, sir." His butler shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't know where he is."

Harry caught the balustrade and looked out over the gardens beyond them, imagining that the warmth of his dance partner had seeped into the cold plaster walls of the palace he lived in. 

His eyes had been blue, mischievous and bright beneath fluttering dark lashes, enchanting in a way that had left Harry breathless. 

"Someone must know who he was? Where he came from?" Harry turned, reluctantly drawing away from the railing. 

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, he is gone." He was met with a shake of his servant's head.

"He couldn't have come without being announced!"

"He wasn't, sir, but some say they saw him on the balconies. It's possible, sire, that he snuck in." Chester offered with a conciliatory smile.

Harry pushed air out his nose and tried to stifle the memories of the warmth of the young man's smile, the ease of his laughter, the tilt of his speech. 

"I suppose there is nothing to do, then," Harry said and rapped his knuckles against the wall. "Too bad, really," he tugged at his collar. "I'd like to go to bed now, Chester." 

"At once, sir."

"Send for Merlin tomorrow."

"Yessir." 

With that Harry made his way to his rooms, loosening the collar of his formal coat with careful fingers. It would take two servants fifteen minutes to free him from the blasted clothes - heavy wool and silk brocade and velvet that had to be heat pressed and stored carefully - and he wasn't looking forward to it. 

He slowed in the hallway, looking at himself in the mirror, and frowned, straightening his shoulders a little. He was King. Crowned in gold and jewels. He held the entire English empire in his fingers. He was also closing in on forty five with fine lines forming at the corners of his eyes and unwed with no desire to do so.

If he looked hard enough maybe the stranger’s face would reappear before his eyes, all sharp angles and mischief and flirtatious confidence. He had never been so taken before.  
  
“Your Majesty?” A gentle voice drew his attention.  
  
“Roxanne,” he said, focusing on her face in the mirror. His ward, garbed in rich plum velvets, folded her hands primly in front of herself and offered a smile.  
  
“You left early. I came to check on you.” She slipped her hand into his elbow and he curled his fingers into hers. “Is everything…”  
  
“I’m quite alright.” He assured. “My dance partner vanished before we could finish our dance.”  
  
“Oh? The young man with the garish accent?” Her words were a laugh as she nudged him affectionately. “I quite liked him.”  
  
“You saw him?” His heart lifted into his throat. “Did you learn his name?”  
  
“No I’m… afraid not.” Her brows knitted. “I know he was avoiding a man this evening, though. Or two men? I can’t remember. He certainly wasn’t fond of a couple of our attendees.” 

“Would you know him again if you saw him?” Harry turned and caught her shoulders. “Roxy, would you?”  
  
“Yes, of course,” she said with certainty in her voice. “Uncle?” He released her and strode down the hallway, unfastening his collar as he went. “What’s going on?”  
  
“When Merlin gets here tell him we’re going on a search through the city. Rustle up a list of all the sons of nobility eligible for service.” Harry said over his shoulder and turned to walk into his quarters, considering his niece for a moment. 

“Have you gone mad?” The bafflement on her face forced him to smile.  
  
“Maybe a little.”


End file.
